


A shortcut home

by Elisexyz



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 12:52:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13788156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisexyz/pseuds/Elisexyz
Summary: “The devil trap stays,” Ward states, shooting a warning glare at the demon. “And if you try anything besides showing me Kara, you are dead, Coulson’s orders be damned. Are we clear?”(...)Kara isn’t the only one that gets summoned. Jemma shouldn’t really be surprised.





	A shortcut home

**Author's Note:**

> Well. I don't know where this came from. For once, I didn't copy the demon from _Supernatural_ , I just made her do what I needed her to LOL. You can find me on Tumblr as [heytheredeann](http://heytheredeann.tumblr.com).

Jemma knows that it’s anything but a good idea.

Hell, she’s _sure_ that Ward knows it too. The thing is, he doesn’t have the best track record when it comes to setting aside bad ideas, even when they are guaranteed to end in disaster. Not for the first time since the beginning of the assignment, Jemma wishes she had been paired with someone else.

“Don’t tell me you are considering this,” she hisses, but she already knows the answer.

Ward’s eyes leave the demon just for a second, he doesn’t even bother fixing them on her to sell a lie. He still has his gun pointed at their target, but she knows that it doesn’t mean anything, it may just be a reflex at this point.

Jemma’s fingers twitch around her own gun, as she mentally revises how many anti-demon bullets she still has in the chamber and all the rules that she meticulously studied during her course on how to properly shoot a gun. It calms her down a bit, but she knows that they need her alive, she can’t just shoot her in the head because Ward is being stupid.

The only thing she can do is try to talk him down, but she knows that the chances of _that_ working are slim. She wishes Daisy was here: she’s always been better at being bull-headed in spite of the situation, and she tends to get on Ward’s nerves, mainly because she has no qualms about pushing the Kara button.

Jemma, on the other hand, can’t help being influenced by how unlikely it is that she’ll manage talk him down and adjusting her course of action accordingly, not to mention that she knows a thing or two about that kind of loss, which makes her pump the breaks whenever she’s about to bring Kara up as a way to manipulate him.

“I know you are too,” Ward shoots back.

Jemma swallows, trying to chase away thoughts of Will the way she’s been doing since when she’s come face to face with the thing wearing him as a piece of clothing. Sometimes, it feels so incredibly disrespectful, how little time she spends dwelling on him. She hopes that the fact that it takes inhumane effort counts as a sort of excuse.

“I’m not,” she replies, but it comes out too forceful to ring true. It sounds like she’s trying to convince herself. Maybe because a part of her _wants_ to consider it.

“I can let you see them both, no problem,” the demon intervenes, sending a sweet smile her way. She shows some teeth while doing it, and it’s scary how such a beautiful face could look so threatening. “Will, was it?” she adds.

“Get out of my head,” Jemma orders, raising her gun an inch higher.

“Sorry,” she replies. “You were thinking _so_ loudly. The offer still stands, in spite of your— rudeness.”

“Ward,” Jemma calls, deciding that it’s best not to pay her any more attention than she has to. Once again, Ward barely glances her way.

In spite of all the bad blood between them, in spite of how long it’s been since when he’s been a true part of their team – or at least, since when they thought he was –, she still holds onto her pathetically detailed catalogue of his expressions and looks. Some of them belonged to his cover only, but this one is not among them. He’s made up his mind already. He _wants_ this.

She has to try to stop him anyway.

“This won’t end well,” she warns. “For you, or anyone else.”

“I can keep it under control,” he states. “I’ll stop in time.”

Jemma rolls her eyes. “No, you _won’t_ , keep your ego in check for once,” she snaps. She understands that he _wants_ it, hell, _she_ wants it too— She can’t help picturing Will, standing in front of her, smiling at her and telling her that it’s gonna be _alright_ — but she knows he’s _gone_ and she can’t have him without losing herself in the process and compromising the whole mission.

“We are here for a _reason_ ,” Jemma insists. “You _can’t_ do this.”

This time, Ward’s eyes stay on her for more than a few seconds. She’d like to take it as a good sign, but she can still see the determination on his face, and he has lowered his gun already. It occurs to her too late that telling him that he can’t do something is very unlikely to produce the desired effect.

“Shoot her in the face if she tries anything funny,” Ward orders, stepping away from Jemma to approach the sigil on the wall that’s been keeping the demon from doing anything more than picking up on their thoughts.

Jemma wants to scream in frustration. She knows she could call for back-up, but their team is divided in pairs scattered all around, and it’ll be at least half an hour before someone can come for them.

“The devil trap stays,” Ward states, shooting a warning glare at the demon. “And if you try _anything_ besides showing me Kara, you are dead, Coulson’s orders be damned. Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” the demon grins. It sends a shiver down Jemma’s spine, because that’s the face of someone who knows that she’s in control.

“Ward, let’s just take her in, _please_ ,” Jemma tries again. She knows she can’t do it on her own and that nothing short of shooting his head off will stop him from doing what he wants. It’s no secret that he has no real loyalty to Coulson, he’s just in for revenge. Sometimes, though, Jemma likes to think that in the last few weeks they’ve come to an understanding— that their losses have brought them close enough that he _may_ listen to her. Maybe. If she pleads. “Please,” she repeats, without bothering to mask her fear.

Ward smiles, and it’s soft and sweet in a way that he hasn’t been for a while. “Sorry,” he replies. “You understand why I have to.”

She does.

A second later, he has broken the sigil and the only thing that Jemma can think of is that they are so inevitably _screwed_.

 

Kara isn’t the only one that gets summoned. Jemma shouldn’t really be surprised.

It’s a matter of seconds before she finds herself staring at a paler and translucid version of Will, smiling down at her as if not a day had passed and he was still alive.

“Jemma,” he calls, softly. He doesn’t make any gesture to invite her to get closer, but she can’t remove her eyes from his and she’s _drawn_ to him, as if all the energy that she’s spent missing and mourning him was now being used to push her forward. She takes an hesitant step without meaning to.

“I’ve missed you,” he adds, and it’s so soft and gentle and _real_ that she can’t help returning his smile with a tearful one of her own. Her heartrate is increasing abnormally and her stomach is twisting in anxiety and anticipation, as if everything in her was just waiting for the moment in which she’d launch herself onto him and hold him.

“Me too,” she manages to choke out. “I’m— I’m just so sorry,” she adds, quickly, all her feelings of guilt coming right back up, overwhelming her with the urge to _fix_ it all, now. Even if some things can’t be fixed. Like the fact that she left him behind. “I didn’t mean to, I swear—”

“Jemma,” he calls again, still smiling, not a trace of anger or hurt on his face. “I’m just glad you are safe. That’s all that matters to me.”

She has moved a couple of steps forward, and she notices only when he raises his hand slightly and it brushes against her arm.

She can’t touch him. He isn’t real.

She blinks her tears away, taking a sudden step back with a strangled cry. For a moment, she can see everything more clearly behind the fumes around them, and she spots the demon’s bright red eyes as she orchestrates the whole thing.

Will looks hurt by how she escaped his reach. But it’s not Will.

There are many hypothesis, but not enough data. It’s not a territory that can be safely explored. Some have survived this particular trick. Many haven’t.

“Jemma,” Will calls again. “What’s wrong?” He sounds genuinely concerned and there’s nothing _wrong_ with him, not his features, not the way he holds himself, not the way her name slips out of his mouth.

Some think that the spirits that demons show are just illusions created with pieces of memories quickly extracted from the victim’s head. That that’s why they are so realistic. Some think that the fumes work as some sort of drug, and that the victim’s own mind and guilt creates the illusion.

Either way, it’s not Will.

Some believe that demons actually call the souls of the dead and twist them until they serve their purpose. That they become nothing more than puppets— Again, not Will.

Some are convinced that souls get needy after death— that demons only need to give them a way to contact the living and that they’ll do anything in their power to bring them down too. Because death is lonely and lonely souls will go to great lengths to make their eternity less empty. These people bring ghosts and the way they desperately hold onto the warmth of life as proof of the logicality of their argument.

Jemma doesn’t want to dwell on the last hypothesis.

She keeps blinking away her tears, fighting the urge to take a deep breath to steady herself – if the fumes really are to blame, better to not inhale more of them than she has to.

“You are not him,” she states. Her voice doesn’t come out exactly steady, but it’s close enough.

Will wouldn’t drag her down. Will died so that she could live. This thing— it’s closer to Hive than it is to Will. Just like Hive, it will use Will’s memories and her feelings to could her judgement— if she managed to shoot the creature wearing Will’s face, even as he put up an act to make her believe that it was still _him_ , she can step away from this illusion.

“Jemma,” he calls, hurt and confused by her suspicion. “It’s me.”

“No, it’s not,” she insists. Another step back. _It’s not Will_.

Adverting her eyes comes as difficult as severing her own hand. It takes a few tries to manage it, but she does, and she spots Ward standing in front of Kara – if she can see her too, does it mean that the ghosts are created by the demon and it’s not just the fumes making them see things? Why would _she_ hallucinate Kara? –, way too close. They are not quite touching yet, but it’s a close call.

She tries to shout at him to get back, but he doesn’t as much as flinch.

“Jemma,” Will is still calling her. _Not Will_.

She swallows. “I’m sorry,” she says, careful to keep her eyes locked on Ward.

It’s not Will. She has to walk away from him. If she looked at him, she doesn’t know if she’d manage it.

She starts walking, and it’s like having chains weighting down on her legs. Once she’ll be free, she’ll surely experience a newfound appreciation for how easy it is for the human brain to order the body to move.

“Jemma, please,” Will calls after her. She’s abandoning him again. She’s choosing to save _herself_. Again. She’s leaving Will alone to die _again_.

 _It’s not Will. He would be_ pushing _me away. He did, the last time_.

It’s just an illusion, or an hallucination. A twisted ghost, at most. A puppet. Closer to Hive than to her Will. She can take Hive, she already did once.

The closer she gets to Ward, the further away Will’s voice seems. A part of her wants to turn around, run back to him. _Not Will_.

“Ward,” she calls, when she’s close enough to grab his arm and try to shake him. She’s going to _kill_ him for this. She’s going to save him from his own stupidity and then she’s going to find a very creative way to kill him. Maybe she’ll use him as a test subject for her next project.

“Jemma.” Will’s voice is a faint echo behind her now, but she still has to fight the urge to turn around. She _wants_ to. She wants _him_. “Jemma, please.” _Not Will, not Will, not Will_.

“Ward!” she yells, trying to shake him with more energy. He doesn’t even turn, his eyes stay locked on Kara’s smiling face. He’s leaning slightly towards her, and Jemma notices how he’s _beaming_. His eyes look _full_ for the first time since when he’s showed up on their doorstep with blood-soaked clothes and an offer of alliance that they were in no position to refuse.

Jemma tries to pull him back forcibly, because he looks like he’s about to just go ahead and follow Kara wherever she’s headed— he can’t do that, he’ll die. He can’t do that like Jemma couldn’t go with Will – _Not Will_ – and he needs to live so that she can smack him for putting her through that shit – “Jemma, please, just _wait_ —”.

“Ward!” she keeps yelling. “Snap out of it!”

He doesn’t acknowledge her in any way, and he’s moving a step forward to get closer to Kara. She’s not sure if he can get any closer and be able to turn back.

Jemma catches sight of the demon, standing still in the devil trap, and she realizes that she’s still got her gun. Ward is trying to pull away from her grasp and Will keeps _calling_ her, Ward weights way too much for her to be able to keep him place if he puts a little more strength into his escape— Coulson will have her head for this. She takes the shot anyway.

 

As soon as the bullet penetrates the demon’s skull, everything fades away like it never existed.

The echo of Will’s voice suddenly dies out, and Jemma feels overwhelming relief at the silence, like she got used to the background noise and she didn’t realize how much it was weighting on her until it was gone.

Ward, on the other hand, screams for Kara as she disappears, and he launches forward with enough strength that Jemma almost loses her balance, still gripping his arm like her life depended on it – well, _his_ surely did depend on it.

She automatically pulls back with all her weight to not fall, but he suddenly stops opposing any resistance and he ends up messing with her balance, again. She probably would have been able to stand upright, considering that she instinctively dropped her gun and grabbed him with her other hand too, but she guesses that his knees gave out or something, because they both end up sitting on the ground.

It takes Jemma a few moments to recover from the mini heart-attack as she fell. When she’s sure that she’s alright, she takes a deep, steading breath and takes a quick look at Ward, who looks like— well, like he’s seen a ghost.

“Ward,” she says, carefully. Looking at how his eyes are fixed on the spot where Kara stood and at how he seems to be unfocused and confused – or maybe just desperate –, Jemma has an hard time not thinking about her personal illusion.

But first things first, she has to make sure that he isn’t catatonic or something. Then she can worry about her feelings. And about smacking him – still, her hands don’t get the memo, considering that they are trembling when she tries to shake him.

“Ward,” she calls again, more forcefully.

He turns sharply towards her, and he’s quick to grab her arms. He looks _livid_. It’s scary, it’s not an every-day occurrence to see him lose his grip on his emotions.

“Why did you do it?” he snaps.

Jemma swallows, trying to ignore how his grip is starting to hurt and her heartrate is accelerating. “It wasn’t her,” she replies. “It was a trick.”

“It was _her_ alright,” he scoffs. There’s no humour or light in it, he just sounds like a madman.

“Think about it,” she insists. “She wouldn’t want you to die.”

“She wanted us to be _together_ ,” he hisses. “And _I_ wanted it too.”

“It _wasn’t_ her,” Jemma insists. “It couldn’t be,” she adds, her voice breaking towards the end of the sentence. It wasn’t Will. She didn’t leave him behind again. She _didn’t_. It wasn’t _him_.

Something must transpire through her face – which is hardly surprising considering that she doesn’t bother hiding how badly she needs to believe it –, because Ward’s grip on her arms eases a little and he looks taken-aback for a few seconds before she sees him clearly taking a grip on his emotions and sobering up.

“Sorry,” he finally says, taking a sharp breath. “Sorry.”

He lets go of her for a second before turning his grip into a slight caress, then he just pulls her into a hug. It’s gentle and she could totally back away from it if she wanted to, but the thing is that her hands are still trembling and she can’t shake away the feeling of Will’s voice calling her name— she _needs_ comfort, and there’s nobody else to provide it. Actually, there is nobody else who could understand her needs better than Ward does right now.

Physical contact between them since when he’s come back to the team has been limited to patching him up, plus one incident when they chose the same spot to self-medicate with booze and finding another one just didn’t seem to be worth the effort. Jemma is fairly sure they barely exchanged a word – not that she remembers it too clearly –, but in the morning they woke up leaning on each other. They decided not to mention it, ever.

Now, though, it seems a good time for a hug. Or at least, she’s in no position to refuse.

So she shifts closer and raises her arms so that she can wrap them around his back, her cheek pressed against his shoulder.

“That wasn’t very smart of me, was it?” he scoffs, after a few moments of silence. He’s stroking her back rhythmically, and Jemma suspects that it has more to do with how _he_ needs to calm down than with soothing _her_. Not that she cares much.

“That was plainly _stupid_ ,” she retorts. She wouldn’t have had to suffer through it all if he had just managed to resist the temptation. Stupid weak bastard. She _understands_ , of course she does, but he’s an idiot anyway.

“You are shaking,” he states, a few seconds after, his grip tightening slightly. Jemma just sinks lower into him, because why the hell _not?_

“You are shaken up too,” she retorts. He may not be shaking, but she can hear it in the quiver in his voice and she’s sure that if she bothered to glance at his face she’d find that he still looks awfully messed-up.

For a while, the only sound that can be heard is that of their breathing. Jemma can hear Ward’s heart-rate slowly steading, his breath following a regular pattern that she starts synchronizing with even before she realizes that it’d be a good idea, with him being the only one actually trained to handle high stress situations and all.

They are already breathing as one when Ward speaks again. “Coulson won’t be happy with us.”

Jemma doesn’t really want to think about all the intel that she just shot in the head and the earful she’ll get from Coulson on the use of lethal force. She’ll have to tell him that the demon was a threat to their lives and that she had no other choice, but she isn’t really looking forward to explaining in detail what exactly happened. She blinks away the tears at the thought of Will’s face – _Not Will_.

“Later,” she mumbles, leaning a bit more into the embrace. “We’ll figure it out later.”

Right now she just needs a bit of a break.


End file.
